


The Kindness of Strangers

by titC



Series: February 2017 - Month of Twu Wuv! [5]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Chloe is Angry, F/F, F/M, Gen, and has weird taste in teddy bears, angsty moping, big bag o'feels, but Chloe is resilient and has friends, but not really, have some tropes with that, making new friends, some shoes are evil, sorry Lucifer didn’t want to have sex, sort of Candy/Lucifer, the tribe is out, titC goes overboard with them feels, women help women, yeah i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:01:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9994265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: From prompts I horribly mangled (see the notes), the post 2x13 story everyone has to try to do.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BurningUpASunJustToSayHello](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningUpASunJustToSayHello/gifts), [skaoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skaoi/gifts), [LivaWilborg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivaWilborg/gifts).



> As seems to be my habit, I took several prompts and twisted them.  
> From Skaoi, the palm reader idea. The rest of the prompt, hem...  
> From BurningUpASunJustToSayHello, a 2x13 coda fic (which happens months after, but whatever) (sorry).  
> From Liva, a girls' night out - I couldn't entirely follow your script, sadly.  
> I hope you don't hate it!

It had pretty much been all whirlwind, a whirlwind fueled by drugs, alcohol and desperation; but here she was, and probably all the better for it; at least for now.

Candy looked at him, much more disheveled than we they’d met in the slightly dilapidated club where she’d been performing for a year. She’d thought he was yet another rich dude trying to slum it up, something different from the places he must have been used to but not enough to feel really threatened. Now, his shirt was open, his pants undone, his hair a mess; a far cry from his very polished attire of earlier. She thought he’d liked it when she’d climbed him like a tall, tall tree as he was still all dressed up; and she’d loved messing up his expensive clothing – she was more used to guys being very, very fussy about posh, expensive suits and silk shirts and polished shoes. It was like he didn’t care; no, like he _enjoyed_ the pings of the buttons flying everywhere and the sound of fabric tearing apart. Anyone else would have thrown her out, maybe hit her. Like Gary had, long ago.

But this guy hadn’t, and so after they’d rolled about in his suite trying everything from the couch to the bed to the table, as he was looking at her with reddened eyes and holding yet another bottle of pricey scotch in his hand, she’d said, “we should get married.” He’d only stared at her for a while, taken a swig or two, and then he’d looked strangely sober – not possible, given all he’d imbibed – when he’d answered in his other-side-of-the- _pond_ accent, “well, that’s something I haven’t tried yet, I guess.” He’d waved two fingers at, well, the sky outside, whatever that meant; and slipped into a new suit, and off they’d gone. He’d even managed to get a limo in the middle of the night, and they’d gotten one of those quick Vegas marriage, and he didn’t even hesitate. They said yes, they signed, and back they went to his hotel, where some champagne was waiting.

Now… now, it was strange. Earlier in the evening when he’d taken her away from the club and into his hotel’s bar, she’d tried to flirt – he hadn’t been handsy with her, hadn’t tried to touch her, even when she’d danced as provocatively as she knew how. Drunk clients always had a hard time restraining themselves, and it usually disgusted her; but him… he’d looked at her appreciatively, and kept one hand on his tumbler, the other tapping a somewhat disjointed rhythm on the backrest of the couch he was sat on. It was – strangely infuriating. But he’d asked if she wanted to have a drink with him afterwards, and he’d been a little intense but also polite and not grabby, and so there at the bar she’d said, “you know, I read people.” If her best moves didn’t sway him, maybe this would.

She’d tried to catch his hand, but he’d caught her wrist instead. “A palm reader, huh.”

“Women from my mother’s line are, yes.”

“We can have fun upstairs, if you’d like. Palm reading is not my idea of fun, I should say.” And for the rest of the night, they’d certainly had fun. He was really, really good in bed, even if it never felt like he was entirely there with her; and for some reason he kept his shirt on. She never managed to get a peek at his hand either.

But now… now, maybe she could.

His chest rose and fell slowly, and he hadn’t moved in a while, even though the early sunlight was already starting to crawl over the wooden floorboards. She took his hand in hers, and smiled at the difference in size. Was he a pianist? There was an upright piano in the main room of his suite, but maybe it was always there, waiting for the right guest to play it.

She stroked his fingers a bit, soft and manicured and strong – he had a strength she wouldn’t have expected from someone who seemed so hellbent on imbibing so much alcohol and drugs. He wouldn’t last long at this rate, but she didn’t need him to. He was her ticket out to safety, and hopefully he’d get some good times out of her. She was willingly paying her freedom with her body and her time, and it was worth it.

But then, her eyes fell on the lines of his palm, and her world turned upside down.

 

When she came back to herself the sun was much higher up, and she was still cupping his hand in hers. His eyes were red – not a binge-night red. Actual red eyes. He tore his wrist away from her loose grasp and sat up, further away from her than he’d been. She was grateful.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said. I don’t think you will, she thought. But how can you be… here? “I can leave, if you’d rather.” She couldn’t speak yet, gaping at him and feeling small tremors running all over her body. “That marriage should be easy to have annulled.” After a while, he sighed and stood up, buttoning his pants as he started to walk away.

She caught his arm. “No, I… sorry. I – wasn’t expecting that.”

A corner of his mouth lifted, bitter. “No one does. I didn’t, either.”

“I know.”

“You’re, ah. Not running away screaming. Or frozen in fear.”

“There’s nothing to run away from.” From all the things that had flashed in her mind, all the things she knew were only a fraction of the eons he’d lived… No. She’d seen enough to know that, at least.

“I’m starting to wonder what you think you saw.”

She let out a long breath. “Too much, I think. Too much for me to process. I usually see someone’s life but it’s at most a few decades, not… Can I have a drink?”

“Is that wise?” It didn’t sound like he was asking her as he stepped away for a few minutes while she blinked at the rising sun outside, and he came back with… tea. Hah.

“Thanks,” she said. “Fuck. Married to Satan.”

“That’s a rather daring escape plan, if I may say so.”

She almost dropped her cup. “How did you know?”

“I can tell when mob mooks are looking too closely at someone.”

“Ah. Well, thank you for going with it, I suppose.”

He shrugged. “I’m looking for distractions.”

She sipped at her tea, the warmth centering her. “My gran always said I’d meet special people, but… well. That’s unexpected.” It was too warm, after all, and she gently blew on it.

“I strive for surprise.” He fumbled with a pack of cigarettes and lit one, standing by the open window. It took him a few tries, and she thought – how different you were, with her. How different you looked, more… alive, smiling and real and happy. Before, no one could come near you without being incinerated by the light of your divine wings or the wrath of your burned face; and now, after her, you’re just… colder. Like there’s less life in you. Like you’re a little dwarf star instead of of the brightest you should have been always. When there was only a short stub left between his fingers, he ground it in an ashtray. “What do you want, then?”

Honestly, she didn’t really have an answer. She still wanted protection, and to be fair, a rich guy with connections who also was the devil sounded like an even better ally than just any random rich guy. “Can I take your name?”

“What?”

“Since we’re married. Can I use your name?”

He shrugged. “Anything else?” She looked around. His suite was big, much bigger than the room she rented. Nicer. “Fine.”

Her head shot up to blink at him. “Sorry?”

“I said fine, we’ll go and get your things back here. You can have the main bed, I don’t really need much sleep anyway.”

“But…”

“You don’t have to sleep with me to get what you want.” His voice was so… flat. Toneless. She could still hear it raised in anger, joyful in song, breaking and shaking and full of wonder or pain in the snippets of his life that had bled through into her memory.

“I did want to sleep with you. I could do it again, really. I enjoyed it.”

“You’ve got what you wanted now.”

She wouldn’t change his mind today; but watching his pinched mouth, the little furrow between his eyebrows, she decided she would. A stripper she was, and a stripper that had angry people going after her; but she also was a seer from a line of seers who’d always tried to use their gifts to help. It may have been what had led her to be hunted in Vegas in the first place, but she wouldn’t let her mother, her grand-mother, and all of those who came before down. Not on her life.

And if it meant she wouldn’t constantly have to look over her shoulder and try to blend in crowds, all the better. They’d help each other, and she’d drag him back to Los Angeles, devil or no devil. Just watch her.

 

A few weeks went by. Everything and nothing changed: she was still followed, people still leered at her when they recognized her, she still danced and got mostly naked on stage. She liked it, after all; and it was good money. On the other hand, no one approached her, she now lived in a very swanky hotel, the clubs where she worked were much more tasteful and none of the patrons ever tried to fondle her – it might have something to do with Lucifer glowering at them from nearby most of the time, downing more alcohol every night than she could in a week – and that was saying something. He’d asked if she wanted to stop dancing, but she’d refused. Stripping is what I do, she’d said. I strip on stage, and I lay people’s souls bare when they need me to. Not her fault if a Russian guy killed his girlfriend, his lover and then himself afterwards. Not her fault if he was the son of a big Mafia boss. Right?

Lucifer had only shrugged and wandered away to the piano – and yes, he did play it, well and often. He even played it in some piano bars when the fancy took him, and it would be her turn to sit at the closest table and glare at all the men and women who approached him, toying with her ring. They may not have had any sex since the night they met, but she’d be damned – hah – if she let anyone else get to him. If he wasn’t doing anything with her, then the only other person he should do things with was the woman he’d left in LA.

“Tell me about her,” she’d asked once.

“Haven’t you already seen it all?” The bitterness in his voice barely covered sometime else. Something raw, still.

“Wouldn't it help to talk about what happened?”

“You’re not my therapist.”

“No, you left her too.”

He’d only gotten up and left the restaurant where they’d been having dinner. She got a taxi back to the hotel, and she’d been about to tear him a new one for leaving her without warning when she found him in a haze of drugs on a couch, pills in all colors of the rainbow and white powder and mostly empty bottles around and over him. She hadn’t known whether to throw a blanket or a bucket of cold water over him. She finally settled for running her fingers through his hair from her perch on the bit of sofa he wasn't sprawled on. Everyone needed some mothering sometimes, she figured.

He hadn’t let her touch him since she’d read his palm, the strangely shaped lines letting her glimpse at things she couldn’t have imagined. Oh, in public, they linked (clothed) arms and whispered in each other's ears – see this guy with a scar on his scalp? That guy who lost his right ear? He was Sergei’s bodyguard. He works for Alex’s father. He’s trying to catch me alone. He wants me dead. I’ll get them to repent and change their ways then, he’d answer. And indeed the next day they’d be behind bars or had left the country or had suddenly joined an ashram. He’d kept his word; he’d made her life easier, safer. But she couldn't fathom why he’d accepted, because what was he getting from it – from her?

She stroked the soft, warm skin of his knuckles, felt the tendons under the soft hair of his forearms, the pale wrist and blueish veins. She hesitated. It would be very, very easy to slip back into a trance, learn more. Help him in turn, maybe. But he’d probably be furious.

She wanted to, though. She wanted to know more about the people he’d left behind, about that blond cop and blonder therapist and the tall black brother and his terrifying mother. She wanted to know what had made him the devil. She wanted to know why he’d had his demon cut off those gorgeous wings, she wanted to see another Lucifer – the one she’d only had a brief glance at, the one that danced like a dork and stole sandwiches from a kid and played up and down his baby grand with a priest and jumped when tiny arms wrapped around his middle from behind. She’d really like to meet that guy, frankly.

But if she ever forced her way into his mind again… he’d never forgive her. And that, she couldn't have – not for her own sake, because she needed him; and not for his, because he deserved better: not a betrayal, but trust. Affection.

To her utter surprise, without her noticing, she’d grown to like him. With a sigh, she stood up and removed the tumblers and pill bottles from around him, removed his shoes and his belt and got the softest throw from a cupboard to tuck around him. Maybe she could be Satan’s wife for a while longer and sort his life out, now he’d mostly sorted hers. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth – and a kindness for a kindness.

 

The nerve. The nerve he had. One minute he was looking at her like she was the eighth wonder of the world after having (mysteriously) saved her life, the next – well, three days later, but still – she’d found his penthouse empty. Shrouded. And now here he was, months after he broke her heart, a gorgeous woman with his name and a wedding band on the hand she rested his arm. The very arm that had wrapped, hesitant and gentle, around _her_ first; the arm she’d hung onto when her strength had been leaving her.

His eyes kept sliding over her, he only said a few words when he really had to while avoiding her stare; and yet she could feel him watching her. Dan kept scowling at him and Ella almost fell to the ground when he abruptly turned away as she tried to greet him. He… didn’t care.

Chloe didn’t want to cry. Not again, not in front of her fellow officers. Not over a coward, not over someone who hadn’t even told her why. Someone who had been so careful and worried and gentle and who’d only had worship in his eyes but who’d then run away. She couldn’t get this case closed and escape… all _this_ soon enough, except apparently his fucking wife was now part of the investigation as a witness and _that_ was the reason he’d come back here – not her.

Maze had cursed him and his family; Amenadiel had said she’d done nothing wrong; Linda had only shaken her head. She’d finally tracked Charlotte Richards, who’d looked at her sadly and said, “I’m sorry.” She could have found him if she’d really wanted to, and at worse she could have enlisted Maze’s help; but… it had felt wrong. If he couldn’t pick things up where they’d left them, if he couldn’t deal with commitment or hardships or…

“You look like you want to see him burn in hell,” Dan said.

“I do.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry. We’re all here with you, all right? You don’t have to talk to him or anything. I’ll do the interviews. We’re all gonna get to the bottom of this, as a team; and then we’ll kick him out of our lives for good.” She gave him a smile she hoped looked brave and probably didn’t, nodded and joined Ella who was still sciencing around the body. She couldn’t help overhearing Dan’s greeting to Lucifer – “Dick” – and Lucifer’s terribly bland “Detective Espinoza.” It was all so wrong, so out of tune.

But it was just another Friday, she had a dead guy to deal with, a case to solve, a murderer and their motive to find. She focused on Ella and pretended she didn’t see the sympathy on her face when she glanced at Lucifer before starting on what she’d found so far.

 

Chloe was grateful for Dan and Ella’s efforts to shield her, but still she was relieved when he left with that Candy woman. He didn’t even say goodbye to anyone, just walked away; that woman still hovering near him. She seemed to never leave his side, never let him out of her sight. It was frankly creepy; like she was a combination of handler and bodyguard. She definitely needed a girls’ night out, and Dan was thankfully happy to take Trixie with him for the weekend. Sometimes, she felt that she didn’t deserve him – that she didn’t deserve all of them, here for her when she needed help. And yet here they always were. Her throat closed up and she rushed to the restroom before anyone could see her cry; but as she emerged from the stall she found Ella waiting for her near the sinks, concealer in hand and ready to hug.

When she left the precinct that evening, she drove directly to the bar where she’d texted Maze and Linda to meet her; while Ella was not-so-subtly Googling Lucifer and his brand new wife in the passenger seat.

“Lucifer’s back, and he’s married,” Chloe said as soon as she’d taken a pull of the beer Maze, presumably, had already ordered for her.

A resounding silence greeted her announcement. They all took a few minutes and some alcohol to process, or maybe to watch her face. Chloe drank some more to quell that line of thought.

Finally, Linda broke the silence with a heartfelt, “fuck.”

“What’s she like?” Maze asked.

“Tall and beautiful and with great legs.” He was, he’d told her once, a leg man. Hers couldn't compete with those.

“I don’t think they’re married married,” Ella said.

“What? They are, they’re wearing rings and she took his name!”

“Yeah, but I mean. They didn’t touch each other, for instance.”

“Yes they did.”

“Nah. She was always touching his clothes, never his skin. They talked, but didn’t look a lot at each other, not like – well. Um. Like they’re more friends than anything, you know? And he really didn’t look good.”

Maze narrowed her eyes. “Explain.”

“I dunno, a bit thinner, maybe? Paler? Like, um, shadows under the eyes kind of thing? Less… I don’t know. His jacket looked a bit creased.”

Linda inhaled sharply, then sighed. Maze only nodded. They knew something, Chloe was certain; but they wouldn't tell her. Because he’d asked them not to, or maybe out of loyalty and confidentiality. He’d always refused to talk to her, and that was the problem. _His_ problem. And he was not her problem.

Not anymore.

“I think,” she said, “that this is girls’ night, and that girls’ night should be boy-free.” The alcohol had gone up to her brain rather too quickly, she realized when her sharp nod made her dizzy. That was probably a good thing though.

“Boy-free, sure. Still, I need advice about Ricky.”

“The brother who’s ignoring your calls?”

“And also doing things I shouldn’t know about with cars.”

“Racing them?”

“Among other things, yeah.”

“One of my patients is literally in love with her car,” Linda said.

“Is that possible?”

“It is.”

“Sex in a car, yeah; but with a car? You can’t make it feel anything, not even pain.”

“Maze, I never thought I’d say that about you and sex, but you lack imagination. Anyway, she’s in love, not necessarily in lust.”

“What’s the difference? Ow!” A very satisfied smile appeared on Linda’s face, and Maze did that little grudgingly appreciative face she did sometimes.

“I guess we could go and steal a car ourselves and experiment,” Ella said.

Three heads swiveled to her. “Experiment?” Chloe was starting to get worried, not least because the first thing that she latched on wasn’t the stealing part, but the experiment part.

“Like, see how love with a car works?”

“Oh boy. That’s a bad idea. We definitely shouldn’t do it. And I’m not telling you anything else about my patient while we’re doing it.”

Chloe looked at their drinks to gauge everyone’s state of inebriation. “But… it’s illegal.” Although it sounded like fun, but… Maze was giving her the ‘you’re such a buzzkill, granny pants’ look again. She hated that look, she could totally do fun too. Legal fun was still fun, right?

“Oh, we’ll just steal an abandoned car. Or maybe one of my brother’s? I’ll leave him a note, tell him I got to keep my hand in, that it’s all for the good of forensic science. We’ll give it back afterwards anyway!” One piña colada definitely wasn’t enough to be this enthusiastic about breaking the law; but then again it was Ella.

“I feel like I need another drink first,” Chloe said.

“ _One_ drink, otherwise you’ll just start the who’s doing the chores rant again.”

“But you’re not doing your share!”

“Well, maybe you can have a different compromise?”

Chloe tilted her head. “What’s your idea, Dr FeelGood? If it’s me or Trixie doing more, no way.”

“I’m only here to help you find the answer, not give it to you,” Linda answered primly.

“Great. Who else is going to clean? I won’t do more, she won’t do her share; I don’t have money to spend on cleaning services.”

“Maybe Maze can, um, find someone else do it? Without having to pay?”

“Ella…! That’s against the law!”

“Eh, could work.”

Chloe’s eyes swiveled to stare at her roommate. “Do elaborate.”

“I make some extra money as a dom. I could have a client scrub around while the spawn is at school, I guess. Once my boots are clean.” At Chloe’s widening eyes, she added, “don’t worry, granny pants, I always keep an eye on them. Can have them do your share too, I guess.” She downed her third shot glass (after two pints) and slammed it on the bar with a satisfied smile. “See? Problem solved.”

“I… er. Sure. Um. Sort of. Maybe?” She watched Linda clink her glass with Maze’s _fourth_ shot of vodka.

“So, now that’s settled. Can we go steal a supercharged car?”

“No racing.”

“Awww!”

“No. Racing.”

“Can we stab some tires on the way, at least?” Chloe scowled.

“I’m sure Ricky’s got old ones somewhere we can have fun with. Let’s go!”

“I’m driving your car,” Maze told Chloe.

“Don’t have yours?”

“We took an Uber so I can get you and your car home tonight in one piece. We all know you’ll freak out in the morning if you leave it here.”

It was probably wise, although still weird to think people were looking out for her. And anyway it had only been the once, and she hadn’t _freaked out_ , just worried. She couldn’t afford another car and leaving it for an entire night in that neighborhood might not have been her best idea, but she’d been lucky that time.

And she trusted Maze. She’d had her take Breathalyzer tests regularly one night; and to her utter amazement, however much she drank, she always remained fit to drive. Ella had even tested her blood in a totally unofficial blood test: a lot of strangeness, but no alcohol, before or after drinks. Still, from then on she had faith that whatever quantity of alcohol she herself imbibed, she wouldn’t have to worry about getting home ever again.

 

The sky was lightening at the edges when Maze half-carried, half-dragged her back inside.

“I swear, when you get going you’re the craziest of us,” she heard from the fuzzy place her mind was floating in.

“Mmmmmwhy did you take me away from bed?”

“It wasn’t a bed, Decker, it was Ella’s brother’s restroom. Couldn’t have him find you when he comes to his shop, right?”

“M’a cop. Can totally do that.”

“Nope, especially not when your shirt is covered with grease and you’re clutching a chunk of tire.”

Chloe looked down and indeed, there was a piece of rubber that looked like it had been violently torn off a tractor tire, given the giant grooves in it. “Uh.”

“Yeah. Come on, Chloe, get naked.” She blinked. “Shower before bed, or you’ll regret it when you wake up.”

“You’re a good friend,” she said. She aimed for a pat on the shoulder, but her hand ended on something softer, which was strange – Maze, soft? Mh. She heard a snicker and then there was warm water cascading over her and her head cleared a little but then she found herself lying down and everything was soft and nice and dark and hm, no, her eyes were just closed. She heard a clink, a muttered “water and aspirin for when you wake up,” then there was nothing but quiet and blessed sleep.

 

When she stumbled into the kitchen the next morning – thank god for Saturdays – it was to find Maze and _that woman_ trying to out-stare each other in the kitchen.

“What are you doing here? Not working today,” Chloe said after taking the coffee Maze handed her.

“I’m not here for your investigation.”

“What are you here for, then?”

“I wanted to meet you both, the demon and the Detective.” There was a definite capital letter here, just like – not going there.

“We met yesterday.”

“Not properly. I thought maybe we could do lunch, get to know each other? Maybe ask Dr Martin to join us?” She was looking at Maze as she said that.

“No.” Candy ignored her and went on with her staring match with – damn, she realized she’d called her roommate ‘demon.’ His deluded mind must have messed with hers, then.

“We could go punch his mother’s face after coffee.”

“Tempting, but no. He should have talked to us before he ran away. It’s his revenge if he wants to take it, and I’m not doing it for him.”

“You know why he left.”

“And how would _you_ know?” There was a soft swishing sound, and Chloe hid her smile behind the rim of her mug.

“Put your hell-forged knives away, Mazikeen. I, well.” Her shrug made her hoop earrings sway and glint in the sunlight coming through the window. “I’m a seer.”

“Candy is a stripper’s name.” Much more so than her daughter’s at any rate.

“I _am_ a stripper. I’m also a seer. I can prove it to you, if you want.”

“How did you make him talk? What did he say?” More swishing as Maze shifted on the balls of her feet.

“He didn’t say anything, it was an accident.” Chloe snorted. “He told you you looked heaven-sent. He still dreams of the night you played _Heart and Soul_ together on the piano. He often has nightmares of when _you_ cut off his wings. He – ”

“What do you want?” The knives were back into whatever dimension Maze kept them, but it was clear she was still ready to whip them out again at the slightest provocation.

“He helped me when he didn’t have to, and… I want to help him back in turn. I don’t want to owe the devil anything,” she said with a little smile. Chloe wanted to wipe it out of her perfect, fresh face with her fists. Good hangover cure, she was sure. “Did you keep the photo?”

“What photo?” She watched Maze’s face drain of blood. She knew what Candy was talking about. “Maze, what photo?”

“Not my place to say,” she finally said. She’d never known her to sound so shaken.

“Not mine either, but you know he won’t.”

“He should.”

“He should, but he’s a mess, he believes it’s all a lie, and he thinks it’s better for everyone if he stays away – and you know it! You know _why_!” She deflated suddenly, and in a few quick steps that made her high heels snap on the floor she sat on a kitchen chair. Chloe stared at her. It was like she’d gone from haughty, stuck-up former stripper who’d made it big by marrying into money to, well. A woman. A fellow human being, struggling along life in shoes that hurt your feet when you wore them too long and friends that hurt your heart when their own was broken, like everyone else.

“Does he realize you want to help him?”

Candy looked up from stretching her toes. “I think most of his energy goes into pretending he’s not moping.” There was an aggravated sigh from behind Chloe, and two other mugs appeared on the table. “Oh, thanks.”

They all sipped coffee around the table for a couple minutes, until Maze finally said, “I hate Louboutins.”

“He meant well, he saw me eyeing them.”

“He usually means well, and most of the time he gets it wrong.”

Well, not always at least, Chloe thought. She remembered the time he’d said her father would be proud of her; the time he’d followed her to a warehouse. The sandwiches he’d bring her sometimes and that time he’d dragged her on the dance floor and they’d had a great time. Well, there was also the time he’d given _all_ his clothes to a random dude and the doll he’d gotten Trixie and the habit he’d developed in the early days of barging unannounced into her house and, fine. Maze was right. But he’d been getting better, right?

“Unless it’s a grand gesture like going to hell, maybe.” She saw Candy was peering at her when she stopped trying to read her future in the grounds at the bottom of her mug. “Here, let me see,” she added as she took it from her nerveless fingers. “Hm.” She swirled the mug slowly, presumably watching the dregs shift from side to side. “My gran was much better at this than I am, but. Hm.” She smiled at Chloe. “It’s looking good, I promise.”

Maze’s chair squealed on the floor and she disappeared in her room. They heard some rummaging, and then she was back, holding something. She held it out to Chloe before settling back on her chair.

Should she look at it? She didn’t dare lower her eyes, fear and apprehension coiled in her gut all of a sudden.

“You should look,” Candy said.

And so she did. At first, she didn’t understand. Her mother, looking quite young, with a black dude, in a bar. She blinked. No, it wasn’t possible. He’d have aged, it couldn’t be him. “How… how old is this picture?”

“36 years old.”

“But…”

“No, that’s really him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think you do. You don’t want to, but… how many times has he told you?”

“It’s ridiculous.”

Gently, Maze took the photo away. “Lucifer almost broke Linda’s mind when he showed himself to her. He was stupid and he should have done it more slowly and I had to fix his mess as usual, but she got over it.”

“Showed her what?”

“Himself. His face.”

“What…”

“He burned on the way down from heaven to hell. He never healed.” Maze took her hand. “And I wear a human face here when I walk the earth, but it is not the face I was made with. Trixie thinks it’s a Halloween mask, but really it’s the other way around.”

“She doesn’t.” It was Maze’s turn to look surprised. “She told me once you had two faces and usually you hid the other one, but I thought she just had plenty of imagination.” she took a deep breath. “Show me?”

“You humans tend to find it shocking.”

“Did Linda?”

“Well, she’d started with the devil himself, so…”

“All right. I think I’m sufficiently warned.” Maze visibly hesitated. “I need to see. I need to believe you. Please.”

 

They spent most of the day planning after that. Maze refused to tell Chloe more about why the picture made Lucifer run away from her, and Candy insisted on them accompanying her to his mother, who was apparently none other than Charlotte Richards. That… was unexpected, and yet explained so much. As well as made so many more questions pop up in her brain; but as Linda said when they joined her for a break in the afternoon, he should be the one to explain. He owed her a very long, very detailed explanation and this time, they’d all make sure he wouldn’t get away from her before she knew it all at last.

“Want one?” Maze asked as she put the finishing touch on her Irish coffee. True, Chloe’s plain coffee wasn’t as exciting, but she wanted to be as clear-headed as possible tonight.

“Not this time.” Maybe afterwards if it doesn’t go well, she thought before turning to Candy. “Are you sure he’ll be in the penthouse?”

“Yeah, I told him I’d meet him there, that I wanted to change clothes before going to dinner.”

“He’s not cooking anymore? He used to love it.”

“He did for you. I’m not you, though. I only rate the guest room, you know?” Her Louboutins clattered on Linda’s floor. “Ah, I don’t know how his mother can wear those all day long.”

“Well, she’s not entirely human, is she?”

“Is that your professional opinion, doctor?” Maze settled on the couch next to Linda, melting against her like demonic ice cream around wholesome apple pie.

“It is.” They clinked their Irish coffees together, and watching them Chloe’s mind couldn’t help thinking, here’s a demon and a human. They seem to have nothing in common, they have wildly different lifestyles – and lifespans, she couldn’t help remembering. But they’re happy. Whatever it was they had, it was there and it was real. I could have it, too. We could. We will, she decided. We will.

 

It was time. She’d put on the jacket she’d been wearing that early morning on the beach when she’d kissed him and he’d looked at her like he didn’t understand, like he couldn’t understand that she really did want him, just as he was. Maybe he’d remember.

The lift opened on the living room, and Chloe had a sudden flashback. She was glad for Maze and Linda flanking her and giving her strength. The white cloths were still covering everything, even the couch and piano. It was dark inside, but it looked like the light was on outside. Candy strode to the balcony, and they followed her quietly.

“I thought you’d have taken those off. It’s doing nothing for the atmosphere,” she said loud enough for him to hear. Well, for a human to hear. Habits ruled still, even when you knew he wasn’t human after all.

A sigh, and then his voice. “Did you want to try anything in particular?”

“No, not really.” The slap of paper on something – the low table, probably. “I saw your mother, had her start on the annulment procedure. I know it’s not her specialty, but what’s the point of a lawyer mother-in-law if you can’t use them?”

“Annulment?”

“Well, we were drunk, and I forgot I was already married. I mean, I left him when he started being abusive, but legally…”

“Ah. And now you know Gregor will leave you alone, you’re free to leave.”

“Free, yes. But I don’t know, I might stay in LA for a while. I like the people here.”

“Made new friends today?” Paper rustling, the clicking of a pen.

“Well, you’re here. You’re a friend.” He snorted. “Lucifer, don’t be stupid. You’re staying here, and – yes, yes, thank you, but you didn’t have to fill it in right now! Look, you really should stop being an idiot. A blind idiot.”

“Just… go away, if you’re only here to lecture me.”

“I’m here to thank you. You very probably saved my life, and – stop drinking, you know it won’t…” She sighed. “I’ll leave you be, yes?”

She walked back inside, shaking her head. Idiot, she mouthed; and Maze stalked outside, Linda following her. “You bastard.”

“What – Maze?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t know you’d be back?” She slapped him. “That’s for making me worry.” A dull sound and he oofed. “That’s for breaking Chloe’s heart.”

Candy was holding her hand, and she squeezed it back – comforting and bolstering her spirits at once. It had taken her time, but she’d finally realized she had friends, that she wasn’t alone against the world. Lucifer still hadn’t, and she wondered when he would as she saw his silhouette, tense and wary, standing from his chair; and then Maze jumping in his arms.

“What – ” he mumbled.

“I was so worried, and you’re an idiot, and someone’s here to see you and don’t you be stupid again or I swear I’ll make you suffer.”

“…Doctor?”

“Not me, someone else. Come on Monday, Lucifer.”

“You don’t understand, Doctor, it’s…”

“I’ll have Maze drag your sorry ass to my office and sit on you if you try to get out of it. I’ll put you in at 6, all right?”

Candy gave her a little encouraging push in the back, and she tiptoed a bit closer. She could see him gaping a little at Linda, then looking down like a guilty little boy. She took a few more steps. “Hello,” she said.

He turned his head slowly, as if he was afraid of what he would see. Of her.

Maze and Linda walked past her, grinning encouragingly. “Kick his ass,” Maze said.

“We’ll be downstairs,” Linda added, patting her arm as she passed her. “But I’m sure you won’t need us.”

Once the lift doors had closed and she heard it go down, he moved again; bent to grab the bottle. “Detective.” His voice was low, a bit rough. He looked at the whisky in his hands. “Would you… would you like a drink? Or. Or perhaps you’d like to slap and punch me too?”

“Maybe later.” She removed the bottle from his hands, put it back on the table, and finally took the time to look more closely at him; the purplish bruises under his eyes, his shirt half untucked. She lifted his chin a little, forced his gaze away from the floor. “You owe me an explanation or two, Lucifer; and to everyone else you left. I had to lie to Trixie for you. She thought you didn’t want to see her anymore.”

“Detective…” He tried to shuffle away, but no more. No more. She threw her arms around his neck and she felt him stiffen in surprise, then try to get away from her.

“Stop it,” she said.

And then – then, he melted around her, his hands slowly going up, around, and finally gingerly resting on her lower back; his head lowering against hers. She could hear him breathing; irregular and, maybe, a bit wet.

“Please go,” he whispered in her ear, “please go, I can’t leave again.” But his arms had locked around her, and he’d bunched her jacket in his fists.

“Do you really want me to leave?”

“You don’t know – you don’t know, and I can’t tell you, and Detective, please, _please_. For your sake at least, please…”

“I know some. I saw an old picture of Amenadiel with my mother. I saw Maze’s demon face. I want to punch Charlotte Richards’ nose even more than before. But you have to talk to me, Lucifer.”

His stubble rasped against her neck when he shook his head. “As long as we’re near, you’re not free of me and I’m not free of my father,” he murmured, as if to himself more than her. “You deserve better, you do; you deserve the best, and I’m not the best, I’m _not_ ; and I'll give you anything, everything, I'll lay the world at your feet if you just ask; just don’t ask me that, Detective. I don’t want you to know all I’ve done. Please.”

“But I want to. I want to know.” She curled the fingers of one hand around his nape, feeling the short, soft hair there. They inched up, little by little, until she was cupping the so human-like skull of the brightest angel that had ever existed. “How can I decide for myself, if you don’t tell me everything?” A tremor ran through is large frame. “I’m _choosing_. I’m choosing _you_. I don’t want the world, just you. You’re a great big idiot, but you’re _my_ idiot; unless you don’t want that. You don’t have to be perfect, you… you just have to want it, and try your best, and not run away; do you understand?” Her own voice broke on the last word. “Do you?”

She felt him nod. “I couldn’t,” he said, low and shaky. “I couldn’t run away, even if I wanted to.”

“Good. That’s good.” She settled back from her toes to her feet, cradling his head on her way and kissing him gently as he followed her down. “Are you ready?” His forehead rested against hers, his breath stuttered on her cheeks. She looked at his closed eyes, the long dark lashes, his parted lips.

“Yes,” he exhaled.

 

Sunday. The day of the Lord, for some people. The day of his father, where Christians gathered to sing his praise and worship him. The sky was full of colours, from dark blue to light pink; and the world was almost quiet from up here. From the window where he was standing, Lucifer looked back at her sleeping in his bed. Peaceful. She was his peace, and his sun, and his very own morning star and night-light and all the bright things in the world. He wouldn’t worship anyone else.

Last night, after they’d removed the sheets that had made everything looks like death, she’d tugged him down next to her on his couch, made him talk. He’d confessed all his sins because she’d asked it of him, and she hadn’t left. He’d shown her the hellfire in his eyes, the face he was cursed with; and still she’d stayed. “It looks like it hurts,” she’d said as she’d skimmed the pads of her fingers on the scars. His transgressions, written on his body for the rest of all time. But it hadn’t hurt when she’d touched him.

He’d forced all that was about her out, too. That she was a miracle from god himself, that it terrified him – that she was his father’s tool, that nothing had been real. That they were both puppets. That maybe her daughter was, too; who knew? God wasn’t above using children.

But she’d only smiled and said, “you’re an idiot.” How can you not hate it, he’d wanted to shout. How can you not feel used, how can you not want to be free? “Lucifer, if he’d wanted you back in hell, you’d be there already; if he’d wanted to kill you, you’d be dead. But look, we’re both here and we’re doing well, aren’t we?”

What could he answer? He’d closed his eyes when she’d climbed on his lap and kissed him, and after a while she’d fallen asleep right here in his arms, and he didn’t think anyone had ever trusted him that much. It wasn’t possible, was it? Not _him_.

He’d carried her to his bed then, untouched since before he’d left; but he hadn’t dared join her. He’d fallen asleep on top of the covers, and she hadn’t moved when he opened his eyes again. Her lips were slightly curving up in her slumber. What do you want, dad? What do you want from me? What do I have to do, what hoops do I have to jump through?

Now he was watching the dawn of yet another day in his long long life, and he didn’t feel brave enough to turn around when he heard the sheets rustling. When he heard her pad away. He let his forehead fall on the cold glass and his eyelids fall shut and hide the world. He wasn’t sure he could go on if she left. He knew he couldn’t leave. Not again. Maybe he’d just stay here, not move, never turn around – become a statue, frozen here forever.

Sleep-warm arms slid around his chest.

“Hey,” she said, low and… and something else, there was something else in her voice; something he didn’t think he’d ever heard before in the voice of someone who’d slept – just slept! – with him. What should he answer? How? Should he… should he turn around? Or, or touch her hands, resting on his waist? Maybe, maybe open his eyes, see their reflection in the window, watch her fingers sliding between the buttons of his shirt, feathering over his skin and – oh, he’d slept in this shirt and it must be horribly creased and if he opened his eyes he’d see pillow lines on his cheeks and his hair must be a real bird’s nest and he was sure he looked dreadful and – “hey,” she said again. He remembered he hadn’t even kept up his usual grooming standards in a while; manscaping and polishing his shoes and everything else had all gone through the window and – “Lucifer.”

Her hand slipped out from under his shirt and she caught him by the hips, turned him around. He went where she pushed, until he felt the edge of the mattress behind his knees; and he half fell on the bed.

“Look at me, Lucifer. Breathe with me. That’s it, slow and regular.” He was drowning, drowning, drowning. Her eyes were blue, they were green, they were grey; they were the sea. He could even hear the wind battering somewhere against rocks, the high-pitched whines of birds.

Please, he wanted to say, please – I don’t know what’s happening. He let his head fall forward on her sternum, the hard bone the only thing stable in the world for long, long moments. He remembered burning, he remembered flying; he remembered a time when he didn’t need air. His chest ached, and nothing felt real; only her. Only her.

She stirred as if to move away, and suddenly he was clutching her shirt. He made his hand relax. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. He couldn’t hear the wind anymore, he couldn’t hear the seagulls.

“I’m not going anywhere.” She sat next to him, slipping her hand in his, twining their fingers together. He kept his eyes down. “Does it happen often?” It was a nice carpet, thick and soft. He could probably sleep on it well enough. “You should tell Linda about it.” He couldn’t remember what was in the guest bedroom. Was it the same? Just as thick, just as soft? “Okay. You don’t have to tell me.” He wouldn’t have put something cheap there, right? Even if it wasn’t really meant to be used. His guests usually didn’t –

“Are you hungry? Would you like breakfast? There’s nothing in the fridge, but I’m sure I can get something delivered, and surely you’d like… Or, or I can make coffee, at least? There must be coffee. Do you want coffee? It’s certainly much better than that swill you call coffee back at the precinct. Come,” and he was babbling, he was sure he was, as he stood up and tried to pull her up along. But she yanked on his arm with a little grin and he fell back on the bed, looking up at her.

“I don’t want coffee right now,” she said. “I don’t want breakfast.” He opened his mouth but she cut him off. “Or brunch.”

“What do you want, then?” He couldn’t tell. His usual tricks didn’t work on her, and he didn’t know what to do.

“Well, what do _you_ want?”

He felt his mouth open, then close. What did he want? Perhaps… he lifted his arm and gently, haltingly, he ran the back of his fingers against her cheek, in her hair. She didn’t twitch away. He though that was good, probably.

“That’s nice.” Her hair was falling down on one side of her head, and the morning sun coming through the window made it look like gold. He used to play with light, before; to braid it and twist it and curl it around him. Now he watched it crown her. “What else do you want?”

The morning sunlight had reached the middle of the bed, and he blinked. It felt warm, warmer than it had in a very long time. Warmer than he’d been. The world was ablaze once more. He felt bold suddenly, bold and buoyed and young again, fresh again. She made him weightless and free; she was enough and everything. Could he want, and have, and keep?

“You,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> The title: Candy could have gone the way of Mary Bellows in the Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds song, with a bullet in her head; but instead did do a kindness or two to people she didn’t know and to Satan himself and got saved herself on the way.
> 
> In _Streetcar Named Desire_ , there are family tensions, hurt and a budding romance torn apart by (of course) family. It doesn’t end well (and apparently a lot of people find Stanley Kowalski as portrayed by Marlon Brando attractive? WTF??). Fair warning: Blanche DuBois will break your heart in the end.


End file.
